


Reversus Est

by Solstarin



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-23 00:14:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9631049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solstarin/pseuds/Solstarin
Summary: find some magic here--->http://nerddface.tumblr.com/post/156638849193/reversus-estI am fully versed in Elven customs/life cycle (more like Arda-Mandos-with-hopefully-a-lot-more-Arda-than-Mandos cycle), trust me. You’re talking to the girl who literally copied the entirety of Tolkien’s appendices/auxiliary works by hand into notebooks so she could highlight and write her nerd thoughts without ruining the actual books.That being said, this work ignores ALL OF IT.I LOVE THE ELVENKING AND I WANT HIM TO LOVE BACK.Alternatively titled: Molly did some more linguistic stapling.As always, full translations at the end, in the order in which they appear. And boy, are there a shit ton in this one. Fair warning. Nothing brings me more joy than characters speaking in their native language when surrounded by people who share it and have no real reason to be speaking in anything else (other than for reader comprehension, of course, but I only torture you guys because I love you).





	

**Author's Note:**

> find some magic here--->  
> http://nerddface.tumblr.com/post/156638849193/reversus-est
> 
> I am fully versed in Elven customs/life cycle (more like Arda-Mandos-with-hopefully-a-lot-more-Arda-than-Mandos cycle), trust me. You’re talking to the girl who literally copied the entirety of Tolkien’s appendices/auxiliary works by hand into notebooks so she could highlight and write her nerd thoughts without ruining the actual books.
> 
> That being said, this work ignores ALL OF IT. 
> 
> I LOVE THE ELVENKING AND I WANT HIM TO LOVE BACK.
> 
> Alternatively titled: Molly did some more linguistic stapling.
> 
> As always, full translations at the end, in the order in which they appear. And boy, are there a shit ton in this one. Fair warning. Nothing brings me more joy than characters speaking in their native language when surrounded by people who share it and have no real reason to be speaking in anything else (other than for reader comprehension, of course, but I only torture you guys because I love you).

Sometimes it was not war, or foreign relations, or the life-or-death decisions that Thranduil had to face as King that were the most challenging aspects of ruling. Sometimes, the thing that made him grit his teeth and spit fire was dealing with the people whom he ruled. **  
**

Y/N had been in his walls for nearly five hundred years, now, nearly as long as his son had been walking, and in his bed for half that time. He didn’t expect her to be so-- she had come as an advisor, and at the time he had every intent to keep her as nothing more. But somehow, through quietly shared sunrises and sunsets, her gentle confidence and wisdom had slowly driven a cork into the gaping hole his late wife had left in his heart. She had a certain spark of curiosity and independence that he had seldom seen in creatures her age, and it intrigued him endlessly.

Her spark was also the problem. It was as if one Y/N simply up and abandoned her body when she sat down at the war table, and another, bolder, fiery Y/N took her place. This Y/N had a tendency to speak further than she had agency, occasionally testing his authority and pushing the boundaries of her own.

He didn’t mean to snap so harshly at her, but a hundred different things had been plaguing his mind for days, and his patience had been worn to silken strands. When Y/N spoke up as she usually did, objecting his proposition for tighter control on trade relations, white-hot fire flared in his chest. Usually he responded to her with a short, dull comment to put her gently back in her place, but today he could not grind down his tongue.

For a moment, he regretted speaking. Any other man would be angry, would storm away and curse his name.

Y/N’s form of anger was different. She didn’t cry, she didn’t shout, she didn’t cast a glare across a room when they shared a glance. If one were unfortunate enough to be present when something upset her, there was no more than a spark of anger in her eyes before her face fell into an unsettling stoicism and her life continued almost as if nothing had ever happened. She was icily civil to her opponent, and absolutely nothing more.

“ _Gohenanin, âr nín_ ,” she had said, only hinting at her scathed feelings, and was silent for most of the remainder of the council.

When her time was over, and matters moved to areas not in her jurisdiction, she excused herself, and stood to leave. He couldn’t stop her-- this was when she would typically depart, and he couldn’t keep her without disrupting the flow of the conversation and blatantly play favorite. He dismissed her as usual, and offered a standard, gentle farewell.

Her eyes held only a tepid kind of look for him now, one she reserved for imposing strangers as she returned it smoothly. He wanted to stop this damned meeting and apologize, to take her into his arms until her stiff shoulders loosened and she quieted, until she understood he loved her.

He had no choice but her watch her go, gliding across the catwalks from him, ripping a distance between them.

~

Y/N had had it. Proving her worth and maintaining her place on the Elvenking’s war council was difficult enough, and she had very little patience for comments that came from Thranduil’s mouth. 

But if there was anything her parents had taught her, it was to never let her anger show. She glided through the cavernous halls of the palace with no one the wiser to her swirling emotions, and slipped quietly out a side entrance between guard rotations, so as not to alert anyone to her absence. She was almost caught by Eredhon passing the wine cellar, but a short word revealed he was slightly buzzed, as per usual, and he would likely forget he saw her in the coming hours. 

The forest was always calming to her. She used to venture into the hills back home, in Imladris, for hours, listening to the trees whisper and the animals chatter to one another. The Greenwood wasn't home, the trees were broader-reaching and leafy as opposed to mountain pine, but forests all had a sense of peace, no matter where they were. Y/N was devastated to have seen this one sicken over the last century, the bright leaves and young wood weeping and shattering, leaving her with a creeping feeling of dread instead of calming. The illness seemed to weaken its grip around the river, up to the very north of the Rhrovanion, and she made her way there now, fuming more the further she got from the palace and others. 

She didn't realize it was getting dark until a cool breeze prickled her skin, and a rustling in the brush in the near distance turned her blood cold. She didn’t bring a weapon with her, thinking she wouldn’t be gone long. But as the noise drew nearer, and louder, her bravery chilled into fear, and her mind abandoned all semblance of confidence.

It was stupid to have left like this. _Maiar_ , why did her pride have to get the best of her? If she was wounded by one of the forest’s creatures, she’d never hear the end of it. Hell, Thranduil probably wouldn’t let her leave the palace unattended again.

The rustle was incredibly close, now, and in the distance her keen ears picked up the voices of the evening guard. She took a step forward, feeling relieved that she was safe, until it was slaughtered by a broad hand covering her mouth. Another held a razor-sharp blade to her neck, tight enough to draw a thin line of blood.

“Struggle and I will slit your throat.” the deep voice of the man at her back threatened, and she stiffened. He dragged her back into the thick brush, forcing her to the ground, his hands still in place at her face and throat. 

The patrol grew slightly closer, and she could see a familiar flash of flaxen hair. 

Thranduil’s voice rang out over the forest. _“Tiria di il toss, il gond, il sîr, adel il galadh! Fara dad i ungol! Deid’ecces!”_

She struggled and cried out, but her captor’s hands held tighter, keeping her still and muffled. The blade pressed harder. “I won't warn you again.”

She caught the light auburn hair of Meludir, one of the forest guard, flanked by his brother, followed by Leuthil and Orithil, and led by Eredhon. Merenon searched the trees just to her left, his eyes passing right over her, still with fear. Eredhon called his attention, and in the distance, Feren called the group back, to head further down the slightly-hidden side path she usually took. 

Tears welled in her eyes. _They were so_ ** _close_**.

But their footfalls faded, and the loud, crisp baritone of her lover’s voice turned to a muffled sound, leaving her with only her own breath and the breath of her captor. 

When he was sure the elves had gone, and were well out of earshot in the opposite direction, he hauled her up, gripping her forearms hard enough to leave bruises. He seemed to know where he was going, and within a few minutes, she could see the glow of a fire in the distance. 

Suddenly, a broad blade flashed from the darkness, stopping both of them in their tracks and holding her throat in place. She blinked at the large man that stepped from the shadows, glaring first at her captor, then at her. His hair caught the beams of moonlight coming in patches through the canopy and held them fastly; beautiful, if she weren’t currently at the wrong end of his sword and being kidnapped.

“What the hell is this?!” his voice rumbled deep, his words nearly coming out a growl. 

“Found her running from the King and his patrol, Boss.”

‘Boss’ studied her through narrowed eyes, and the camp was silent for a moment as he lowered his sword. “She wasn’t really running, was she.”

It sounded like more of a question directed towards her than anything else. She didn’t give an answer, but it seemed her silence was just as telling, as his eyes flickered over her clavicle, and her clothing. His eyes sharpened as he looked back up at her captor behind her. 

“Did you not see what she’s wearing? That necklace? The King would have your head or worse if he’d have found you. Hell, if he finds you now, we’re all done for.”

Her captor’s hands tensed, tightening her bonds with the movement. “I thought, Boss, that we--”

“Whatever you thought,” Boss snapped, “was idiotic. There’s no chance of ransom with a pet like this, not before we have silver shoved down our throats. Let her go and they’ll find us before we can get out of the forest.”

“Better to kill her?” the voice at her ear asked. Her heart skipped a beat, and tears fell anew. 

“No.” He didn’t give a reason.

“Are you sure, Boss? Because I--”

“ _I said no._ ” 

That was the end of the matter, apparently. 

Y/N didn’t hold back her tears as she spoke, hoping they would help to convince them to release her. “No one will know what happened, I-I promise.” 

Boss shook his head. “No. Thranduil will get his answer one way or another. I don’t want to take that chance.” He turned his gaze to the man who still held her wrists. “Your mistake will cost you. She stays with us. We’ll find a use for her. Pack up. We’re leaving.”

Despair made Y/N’s throat close, her heart fell to her soles, and she dropped her head. She knew the Elvenking wouldn’t leave for weeks on end to search for her, even if he desperately wanted to-- his kingdom needed running, and he wasn’t a foolish man. Besides, he probably thought she had been so angry with him that she left for good of her own will.

Both of them knew her captors would never return to Mirkwood; it was too close, and any patrols that they encountered would recognize her, without a doubt. 

It’s in her best bet, she decided, to be on her best behavior, to understand these men. The more they trusted her, the more freedoms they would grant her, and the more opportunity she would have to escape. The shackle and chain that they attached to her ankle to keep her close to camp put a wrench in her plans, but it hurt her pride more than anything else. 

Osmond was the leader, 'Boss'-- a large, scarred man with dark eyes and few words. His hair was indeed snowy white, despite his relatively young face, and he kept it tied back at the base of his skull. His face and shoulders were scarred heavily, looking like life had tossed him around a little too roughly. He regarded her with what she might call sympathy, sometimes, when no one else was around. 

Lorn, the one who had captured her, was just as broad as Osmond in stature. He was hot-headed, impulsive, and cared little about what anyone else thought. He seemed to rein himself in just as far as Osmond’s patience went, considering he was “the boss,” but that was as far as his self-control went. Times when the boss wasn’t around typically ended up being painful. He never hurt her far enough to slow them down, and he always got a solid blow from Osmond upon his return, but he never took the punishment too seriously, and she dreaded times when the snow-haired leader departed camp.

Landen and Adger she was introduced to later that night. They were twins, gangly things, with long blond hair and sparse beards. They enjoyed toying with her, little things that made her life slightly more uncomfortable. Thankfully, they were the scouts of the group, of sorts, and were away for most of the day.

None of them spoke to her in length, for whatever their own reasons. Though she was around people, her days were lonely. They fed her enough to keep her going, and re-clothed her in something suited more for the road, and much less flashy than her evening gown, which was sure to have gotten her noticed. Osmond kept the garment-- selling it would garner attention to where he might have gotten it, and he was not one to take risks to possible connections.

Osmond did find a purpose for her, and she made good use of her navigational skills-- as it turned out, though the group had brains and brawn, they were piss-poor mapmakers, and their maps were always leading them wrong. Y/N had grown up a nomad in her family’s hunting party, so she knew how to work the land, and how to mark it on paper. She just hoped it would remain useful and keep her alive long enough for her to figure out how to escape. 

She was sitting one evening, sketching out another portion of the forest around them, when Lorn turned from the fire and disappeared into the tree line, leaving his dagger in easy reach on the log. Though it felt like that dagger was plunging itself into her chest, she didn’t touch it. They were testing her.

Lorn returned a few minutes later to see both Y/N and his weapon exactly where they had been when he departed. He spared her a glance and sheathed it as he sat down. Behind her, there was the slight rustle of a tent flap falling back into place.

~

The next morning, she woke to the clattering of her leash. She jerked upright, ready to stand, but Osmond was fiddling with the opposite end, not even glancing up at her as she started. 

After a couple of moments, he stood, holding the extra feet in links he had lengthened her chain with. “Better chance to get some sleep. Can’t have you slowing us down.” Then he returned to his morning tasks, disregarding her entirely as he always did.

A couple months later, she was trudging along behind Landen and Adger, feeling entirely discouraged. Osmond wasn’t stupid enough to give her full freedom- he knew she could wait out just as long as he could. She hadn’t the slightest on how she would escape, or lead someone to her that would recognize her and help. Her eyes drifted over the thick trees on either side of the path, and frowned at a couple that looked like they had been scraped at, and noted to perhaps mention to Osmond that a large buck had probably made them, and may still be living in the territory. 

Adger laughed loudly, drawing her attention, and she noticed Osmond turn left at an approaching fork in the road. She frowned harder. Something seemed familiar.

Wait. She recognized this route. This was the same road Thranduil took on his annual journey to the recently reclaimed Erebor as a trade emissary. She had only accompanied him once, last season, but Noroth was molting around the time of their trip, and his antlers made those broad gouges in the trees where he scratched them. 

Her brain started working in overdrive.  If she could pocket a stone sharp enough, she could probably manage to carve something  into the soft, young bark over the wood Noroth had exposed. _Maidh_ , “fawn”, was one of the many pet names Thranduil had given her, and by far one of his favorites .Her lover was sure to notice it, if she could indeed do what she hoped she could, and he may find reason enough to begin his search again. The group stayed close enough to the road that she could reach a tree within sight of the path.

Hope surged through her veins. It was nearing the time Thranduil would depart, and if Osmond kept this close to the path and following it, she may have a chance. 

Thus, each day, while the camp was in rest, or most of the group was hunting for supper, she snuck away, and carved a name into the trees, leaving a trail. Her leash was typically just long enough, and if she was steady with her feet, the chain didn’t rattle suspiciously. As the weeks passed and she carved more, she began to feel hope once more.

That is, until one afternoon.

She was carving into the trunk, almost finished, when heavy footfalls approached her from behind. She knew them immediately as Lorn, and turned to see him studying her work with a menacing kind of curiosity. Surely he knew what she was doing; he was a brute, but he wasn’t brainless.

“You’ve been leading them to us,” he growled. “This is the last time it will happen. I knew it was foolish to trust you. Your trail ends here.”

She took a step back from the tree, her blood running cold. She was so close. If the party followed like she hoped, they’d find her within the week. “W-won’t the boss be angry?”

He sneered. “I don’t care.” Metal sung in the air as he drew his broadsword, and she scrambled back in an attempt to distance herself, but the brace and chain around her ankle tugged suddenly, and she fell to her back.

Lorn lifted his sword, intent to kill her, and she screwed her eyes shut. Always that close. Hopefully Thranduil had moved on by now, so when he found her dead, it wouldn’t be too hard. 

But the blow never came. The man squealed, instead, and fell back, and she barely caught a flash of white and silver as she ducked her head in fear.

A thin sword came to her throat, guiding her chin up, and what her eyes met almost made her heart stop.

Thranduil looked worn. His cheeks were hollowed and his normally bright skin was dull. His moonlight hair fell flat on his shoulders. His gaze was hard, but there was a different note to it, an iciness, perhaps not as noticeable to just anyone, but she wasn’t just anyone. His shoulders were just as broad and squared and  regally held as always, but… he seemed wilted. She couldn’t believe how tired he looked, after just a year.

It seemed like he was just as shocked as she was, and in a moment, his weapon fell to the dirt. His blue eyes glossed like she’d never seen before, and he just about collapsed to his knees before her. His pale fingers reached out to her face, slowly and unsteadily, as if she were mist that would dissipate if he moved too quickly.

Y/N blinked, and tears fell down her cheeks. Thranduil brushed them away softly, almost reverently, and traced the backs of his fingers across her cheekbone. 

“ _Gilgalad’en_ ,” he murmured. “Your symbols... This is… real?”

“I hope so,” she breathed. “Because I might just die if it isn’t.”

He took a lock of hair in his free hand, his thumb smoothing over the familiar texture. He looked at her a moment longer, then lunged forward, enveloping her in his arms with a fervor that brought sobs to her throat.

“I never stopped looking,” he whimpered. “Never.”

She cried into his chest, thankful beyond belief that he was really here. A broad hand braced the back of her neck, and the heavy scent from his thick cloak enveloped her. He soothed her under his breath, speaking words she only half understood. 

“ _Odulen an edraith angin, maidh. Gohenanin, an ngell nîn. Gi melin, gilgalad’en. Av-'osto._ ” _Maidh_ stood out in the hum of comfort that blanketed her ears, and it solidified the concept that she was finally safe. 

“ _Hîr vuin?_ ” one of the guards who had accompanied the Elvenking stepped forward. “ _Boe’m an dadwen. Anglenna’dû._ ”

Thranduil peeled himself reluctantly away from her, and looked down to her ankle when her movement rattled the metal. 

“What have they done to you?” he growled, looking up. 

“Feren!” he barked, and the captain stepped forward. “Break this.” He gestured to the brace at her ankle. Y/N watched his face meanwhile, feeling as though he would vanish if she looked away. 

He looked back to her, and his face softened. He took her face gently in his palms and pressed a long-awaited kiss to the corner of her mouth. Her tears had yet to cease, and his silken fingers dried her cheeks as Feren and Merenon pried at the padlock. After a moment. it snapped open with a sharp clang.

“ _Tolo ar nin_ ,” Thranduil beckoned, moving to stand. Her legs were unsteady, but she managed to put weight on them. They took less than half a dozen steps toward the treeline before her lover bent at the waist, lifted one of her arms around his shoulders, and swept a strong arm under her knees to lift her to his chest. 

“ _Os man an adanath?_ ” Feren asked reservedly.

“ _Togti ah men_ ,” Thranduil returned, his voice flat, without looking back.

At the tree line was Noroth and the half a dozen castle guard’s mounts. Thranduil lifted Y/N easily into his elk’s saddle, and turned to his guard captain, who was leading Osmond and the twins. She didn’t meet their gaze.

“ _Anim innas nor’núf. Rethci di Eredhon. Tirith-deid eithro. Boe enni glennalim_.”

“ _Hîr vuin,_ ” Feren protested. “ _Alpol lav de glenna ero. Leuthil ah Orithil innas men’di._ ”

Thranduil nodded. “ _Anmae_.” He swung into Noroth’s saddle behind Y/N, his chest pressed firmly to her back, and called for Leuthil and Orithil to mount and follow.

“ _Ava sen,_ ” he commanded Feren, before turning and spurring his mount into a swift gallop. 

~

The ride back to the palace took not an hour, and almost before she had even been lowered to the ground was Thranduil barking for her to be attended. The King only let her out of his sight as she was tended to for a moment, and dismissed the gathered maids to lead her to her prepared bath.

He didn't pry her for answers as his hands massaged floral soaps into her skin, reserved and gentle as he had no idea what state her mind was in. Truth be told, she wasn’t quite sure, either. A large part of her was relieved, blessed that she had been returned to her home without lasting harm. A smaller part worried, strangely, for the trio that remained. Valar knew Thranduil would have no semblance of mercy. And part of her yet felt they had no right to continue their lives painlessly after they interrupted hers. She tried to ignore the war that raged in her chest.

Thranduil provided welcome distraction when he beckoned her to stand, and wrapped her in a soft,  velvety robe.

He sat her at the large vanity in their quarters-- his quarters, really, but hers had been all but abandoned in the last century, and picked up a brush, sweeping her hair over her shoulders. 

She was silent as he smoothed the tangles from her tresses, and watched him pick up another bottle of oil to nourish the ends that had become flayed over the last year. He caught glance after glance of her face, but never spoke, waiting for her to let him in. When she couldn’t hold back the single question that had been prodding at her tongue since she was brought back into the palace walls, she opened her mouth and spoke.

“Why did you keep looking?”

This made him pause. “Why do you ask, _melethril_?”

She knit her brow and took a moment to answer, his hands stilled in her hair. “Perhaps... because... I am not...” she couldn’t quite get the words out right, and toyed with her fingers as Thranduil pulled out the second stool and took a seat to look at her. 

“I don’t know.” And honestly, she didn’t. She had thought of a hundred different reasons why he would stop. His gaze told her to carry on, and she heaved a teary sigh. “Because there was so much to lose by expending the kingdom’s resources searching for something you would never find, because spending time away from rest or food hurts you, because I am not your wife and some days I couldn’t think of a reason why you would want me to return--”

Her words caught in her throat, choked by breath that was coming too quickly. Her vision wavered with emotion and fresh tears, and the King took her into his arms for what felt like the thousandth time that day, smelling sweet of lavender and roses. 

“Y/N, my darling,” he hummed, his heart thudding in his chest. “You are not her. But I would never wish you to be, for that would erase every aspect that only you hold, and I fell in love with. I never gave up because I knew you were not so easily held. If you loved me as much as I believed- as much as I do believe- you would find your way back to me.” he took a short breath. “Perhaps you have not noticed it, _mallos_ , but I am not the only one in this kingdom who is glad to see you home. I was not the only one whom your absence pained, nor am I the only one who put forth an effort to see you return. Though, I must say, no one suffered as acutely as I, _nîdh_ , for I could not live without the very breath in my lungs.”

It was a wonder Y/N hadn’t drowned in her tears, and there would be plenty more to come.

They would be tears of pain, of sorrow, of fear, over the coming weeks, and tears of joy in the following year, when Thranduil asked for her hand in marriage. She would tremble, that night in his arms, in years, when she worried for the fate of Arda when Sauron rose again from the ashes of his rule, and when she brought her husband’s daughter into the reclaimed Middle Earth. There would be many sleepless nights, for better or for worse, but Thranduil had let her go once, and there was nothing that could make it happen again.

She was home.

* * *

**  
Full sentences:**

- _Tiria di il toss, il gond, il sîr, adel il galadh! Fara dad i ungol! Deid’ecces!_ (Look under every bush, every rock, every stream, behind every tree! Hunt down the spiders! Find her!)

- _Odulen an edraith angin, maidh. Gohenanin, an ngell nîn. Gi melin, gilgalad’en. Av-'osto._ (I’m here to save you, fawn. Forgive me, please. I love you, my starlight. Do not fear.)

- _Boe’m an dadwen. Anglenna’dû._ (We need to return. Nightfall approaches)

- _Anim innas nor’núf. Rethci di Eredhon. Tirith-deid eithro. Boe enni glennalim._  (I ride ahead. Eredhon remains with you. His guard also. I must travel swiftly.)

- _Hîr vuin. Alpol lav de glenna ero. Leuthil ah Orithil innas men’di._ (My lord, I cannot allow you to travel alone. Leuthil and Orithil will accompany you.)

**Individual words:**

Gohenanin (forgive me)

Âr nín (my King)

Gilgalad’en (my starlight)

Odulen an edraith angin (I came for saving for [familiar] you)

An ngell nîn (please [lit. for my joy])

Maidh (fawn, pale)

Av-’osto (do not fear)

Gi melin (I love [familiar] you)

Hîr vuin (beloved lord)

Boe’m (it is necessary for us)

An (for)

dadwen (return) 

Tolo ar nin (come with me)

Os man an adanath (what of the men)

Togti ah men (bring them with us)

Anmae (very well)

Ava sen (do not allow them to escape [loosely] [also sen is quenya shhhhh])

Melethril (lover [feminine])

Mallos (flower of gold)

Nîdh (honeycomb)


End file.
